Scar Tissue
by Shotzette
Summary: This is the ShirleyCarmine sequel to Wounds.


Scar Tissue

By Shotzette

Rated PG-13

This is a work of fan fiction only, and is not intended to infringe upon anyone's copyrights or intellectual properties. This was written for laughs, not profit.

Sequel/Sidebar to "Wounds".

S/C

"Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…"

Before he could say the word twenty, or force his aching bicep into one more curl, the harsh buzz of his doorbell assailed Carmine's ears. "Gotta get that thing fixed," he muttered, as he not too sorrowfully returned the dumbbell to the homemade rack on the floor. He grinned as he remembered the look of joy on Sonny's face when he had given the weight rack to him as a thank you gift for letting him crash on his couch--now Carmine's couch--for a month. The stucco and spackled walls were as much of a testament to Sonny's lack of handyman skills as the were the chronically leaking pipes and the electrical wiring that was spliced together with masking tape.

Carmine hadn't been too surprised when his roommate had been fired from his building manager job. The place was slowing falling down around his ears.

His opened door revealed a red-cheeked, yet smiling Shirley Feeney. "Hey, Angelface, he murmured as he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Hello, Carmine," she said in that precisely crisp, yet innocent tone she had.

"What's up?"

"Well, I need a favor…" she began.

"Done."

Shirley blinked. "You don't know what it is…"

"Has that ever mattered?" Carmine asked, as he ushered her through his front door. He winced at the loud squeak of the hinges and mentally added yet another chore on his to do list.

"No, not really. I need a place to stay. Just for tonight," she amended.

Desperately, Carmine tried to wipe the maniacal grin that had crawled across his face. "You want to stay here? With me?"

"Yes and no," she hedged.

"Huh?"

"May I stay on your couch?"

Did you expect she'd be here for anything else, Carmine thought to himself? "Did you and Laverne have a fight?"

Shirley winced slightly before answering. "Yes, but that's not what this is about. Please, Carmine?"

"Sure, Angelface. But," he said as he recalled the very nasty tempered spring near the middle of the couch that nearly had neutered him on one or two occasions, "maybe you should take the bed and I'll take the couch."

"Your bed?" She said, as her face paled.

Irritation welled up inside him. "Yes, the bed. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, isn't it?"

"Well, yes. I suppose…" Her finger tugged nervously at the Peter Pan collar of her blouse.

"It doesn't have cooties."

"I know that. It's just the implications…"

"Shirl…" he began in exasperation.

"I know, I'm being ridiculous. I've been told that once today."

Carmine groaned. Way to kick someone when they're down, Ragusa. "By Laverne?"

She nodded, her thin lips pursed together.

"Part of the fight?"

"Part of it," she hedged.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Carmine asked as he feigned nonchalance and began to swipe assorted dirty socks, briefs, and t-shirts off of the bed.

"Yes, but I don't know if I can with you."

"Thanks a lot!" he said.

Shirley shook her head. "It's not that. It's just that I don't think you'd be impartial and objective. That's all."

"Objective! I'm the most objective guy I know! I'm Mr. Objective! I'm so objective that they're going to have to think of a new word for it," Carmine said, as began to fling his dirty laundry against the wall.

"Not about this..." Shirley insisted.

Carmine opened his mouth; thought about it, then closed it. What was the use? It's not like he ever had won an argument with her anyhow. "Fine. You take the bed; I'll take the couch. I was just about to hop in the shower anyways," he said as he grabbed a towel from the "clean" pile of laundry on the floor and stalked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, scrubbed, pink, and somewhat more relaxed than he had been. To his dismay, Shirley was in his bed, the covers up to her chin, and looking just as tense and unhappy as she had been earlier.

"Angelface, I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just been a long day, is all," he said as he lay down on his creaking couch and pulled an old stadium blanket over himself.

Shirley smiled briefly and shook her head. "No, Carmine. It's not you, it's me. It's been a long week."

"I'm not gonna pry, but if you want to talk about what's bugging you, I'm here to listen."

Shirley bit her lip, and then took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for impact. "It's Laverne."

"Big surprise." At her sour look, he apologized. "Sorry."

"It's not just this fight. This has been building for a while. Laverne's changed since we've moved to California. Or, maybe the problem is that I haven't changed."

"You two always kiss and make up," Carmine said, his mind briefly drawn away on a naughty, and off limits vision. Coughing nervously, he bunched up the blanket to loosely cover more of his pelvic section.

"I'm not worried about that. This fight was little, and as far as I'm concerned, it's over."

"Well, yeah. I'm sure she'll be speaking to you again long before she's speaking to Lenny… I can't believe the two of them…" he trailed off, shaking his head ruefully at the mess his two friends had made of their friendship.

"They're speaking," Shirley said. "In fact," she said as she glanced at the wall of his bedroom that backed up to hers, "they're doing a lot more than speaking right now. Right in my bedroom."

Carmine sat bolt upright on the couch and winced momentarily as the errant spring got in one lucky blow. "Lenny and Laverne? Together? In your bedroom? They're…"

"Yes, like a couple of rabbits if the noises I heard when I came home earlier were any indication."

"Wow. Now I know why you didn't want to be there…"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Shirley asked, her tone suddenly sharp and defensive.

"Well, you know… The two of them… How you are…"

She sat upright in his bed, an angry flush creeping up her normally pale cheeks. "How am I, Carmine? I'd really like to know your opinion since Laverne wasn't shy about giving hers."

Crap, he thought. I stepped into it with both feet this time. "Well, Shirl. It's just, you know, you're not into… OH," he said as her face just looked angrier by the seconds at his clumsy words, "I'm not saying this right."

"No," she said as she sniffed haughtily, "you're probably not."

"It's just that you're…"

"Shirley Wait-Till-The-Wedding-Night Feeney?"

"Well, yeah."

"Is it so wrong that I want to wait? That I think that certain things are private and sacred and should be solely between a husband and wife? Does that make ME a bad person?"

"Now I know why you said I couldn't be objective about this…"

"Thanks a lot, Carmine."

Irritated washed over Carmine. He moaned quietly as he remembered that he had a nine o'clock cattle call audition in the morning and needed his sleep. He wasn't in the mood for this tonight, but he forced himself to be patient and rational. "Okay, you want to wait. Why?"

"Because I have certain beliefs, certain standards… My self respect is very important to me," was her prim response.

"I know that," he acknowledged, "and that isn't necessarily a bad thing. So, I guess you don't respect Laverne very much now on account of what she and Lenny are doing?"

"That's the confusing part. I'm…I'm not all that upset about what they're doing. After I got over the horrible shock and picturing them both doing…THAT. With each other…"

Carmine groaned again. Sleep wouldn't come easy, but he was pretty sure that the nightmares would. "Thanks, Shirley. Now I got a picture in my head too."

"Sorry," she apologized. "Anyhow, I should be upset. I should be repulsed. I should be physically ill, but…"

"But?" he prodded.

"I'm almost happy for her. And for him."

"Really?" Carmine nearly fell of the sofa in shock.

She nodded. "I know it's crazy. I should think that Lenny is just another in a long—and I mean long, probably longer than I even know—string of losers that Laverne has embarrassed herself with, but I don't think about it that way."

"What do you think?"

"I think that she's finally going to be okay. That she found what she's been looking for. In Lenny of all people." She looked at him with pure bewilderment on her face, as if she was a small child who just found proof that Santa wore women's underwear.

"Lenny isn't a bad guy, Shirley. You know that" Carmine said, in an attempt to reassure his Angelface.

"Would you want him dating your sister?"

Carmine snorted. "I'd bust both of his legs. But that isn't the point. He's the guy that apparently Laverne wants. That's the important thing."

Shirley punched her pillow, frustration written all over his face. "The guy who told a total stranger at the Tar Pits that she was easy? That's the guy who's going to be her Mr. Right? That doesn't make sense, Carmine. That's not how things are supposed to work."

Carmine found his head shaking in agreement. "No. That was a rotten thing that Lenny did to her, and he felt like a crumb about it later. Shirl, you have to remember that this is also the guy who proposed to her when he thought some other bum had knocked her up."

"I hate that expression!"

Carmine ignored her outburst and pressed on. "He's also the guy who's been crazy for her ever since high school."

"And the guy who all but attacked her in a motel room in Nevada? Who helped Squiggy trick her into going out with his creepy foreman back at Shotz? The guy who has taken every opportunity to leer at her, grab her, and look down her blouse since high school?"

"I ain't saying he's a saint, Shirley. In fact, he can be kind of a pig some days."

Shirley's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why did I want to win this argument?" she asked no one in particular. "How can Laverne be in love with THAT? How can this be right?"

"Lenny ain't perfect. The fact that Squiggy is his best friends makes that clear. But, he's always been there for her, Shirley."

"Yes, but…"

"When she can't talk to you, who does she talk to?"

"Lenny," she said, through clenched teeth.

"Right. Lenny ain't ever going to be your version of Mr. Right, Shirley." Who is? He thought suddenly to himself before continuing, "but he's the guy who Laverne always goes to. She's always cared about him."

"As a friend! Not a boyfriend, or as potential husband material!"

He winced lightly her use of the word "material". What am I to you, Shirley? Aren't we friends? Am I just a boyfriend and possible meal ticket and baby machine? "Yeah, a friend. Now she cares for him more than a friend. Maybe, deep down, she always has a little bit."

"Nonsense!" Shirley exclaimed as she folded her arms across her chest judgingly. "She would have told me so years ago. Laverne hasn't always had the best taste in men, but Lenny?"

It was like talking to a piece of granite, Carmine thought. "Maybe that's why she never told you, or even told herself. Let's face it, Shirl. Sometimes, you can be a little judgmental."

Shirley rolled her eyes, "Excuse me for having standards."

Carmine rubbed hand over his eyes and tried to pick his words carefully. "This isn't about you having standards, Shirley. It's about the fact that sometimes, when people don't live up to your standards, you make them feel crummy about themselves."

Shirley's eyes widened. "You make me sound like I'm…"

Carmine took deep breath, and spoke the truth, consequences be damned. "I know. You sound just like your mother."

"That was a low blow, Carmine Ragusa."

The wounded look on her face tore his guts out. As usual. "I know, and I'm sorry. But, you have to admit, sometimes, when you get a little holier than thou, you start to sound like your mother."

"Do I?"

"Sometimes."

"So I go around making other people feel as lousy and inadequate as she makes me feel." Shirley said, in a voice from the gallows.

"Sometimes," he said as he glanced away. "I'm sorry, Shirl, but sometimes it's just not too easy to be human around you."

"I'm terrible, aren't I? I'm insensitive and hurtful and all the other things my mother is."

"Only a small--tiny, really-- part of the time. Usually, you make things better. People try to be better than they are, they try to live up to your standards, only…"

Understanding seemed to finally dawn on her. "When they don't, I'm not at all nice about it. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

He nodded. He knew the truth was hurting her, but for once he didn't give into the urge to say what she wanted to hear and to make everything better. "Sometimes."

"So maybe, all of these years, Laverne might have been interested in Lenny as more of a friend, and I ruined it all?"

Carmine smiled. "I wouldn't go that far, Shirley," he said. It's just that, I mean—Laverne has always treated Lenny a lot nicer than she's ever treated Squiggy. Haven't you ever noticed?"

Shirley shook her head.

"I mean, I've seen her take up for him when people have picked on him, and encourage him to better himself, haven't you?"

"I guess I wasn't around, or paying attention when that was going on. Maybe I just didn't want to see it," she admitted.

"Maybe. Maybe they had to do everything at their own speed, who knows?"

Shirley glanced at the party wall between the two bedrooms and grimaced. "Let's not get into speed, right now, Carmine. Laverne has only been out on one, one date with Lenny—a double date mind you—and they're… Well, you know."

Carmine suddenly felt very tired of the whole damned conversation, as he looked at the small alarm clock on his end table, which read one forty-five. Great. "Shirley, they're making up for lost time, just leave it at that. Laverne and Lenny were probably meant to be together despite everything, and especially despite the two of them."

"So you're saying that they're the couple that was always supposed to be together? No dating, but hopping in bed together at the drop of a hat."

"When Lenny does something right, he does it in a big way." The words were barely out of his mouth when Carmine regretted them.

Shirley's tone was icy. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, let's face it, Lenny's already proposed to her once when they weren't even dating. You don't expect him not to want to marry her when they're actually together, do you?"

"No. I don't. Well, this is a fine kettle of fish if she beats me to the altar this way," Shirley replied, the bitterness in her words palpable.

Carmine's gut clenched involuntarily. "I didn't realize that there was a race."

"If it was, the hare would be beating the tortoise by a landslide," Shirley murmured, her eyes gazing far away.

"Shirley…" He didn't like where the conversation was going.

"Well, we've only been going out for how many years?"

"We're not Laverne and Lenny," he said, and then questioned the odds of him ever having to say THAT sentence.

Shirley didn't look like she was going to let the subject drop anytime soon. "Is my staying here tonight a mistake, Carmine? I'm sure Rhonda's date has left by now and I could probably stay at her place."

"So you went to Rhonda's door before mine? Why am I not surprised?"

"I just didn't want people to see me leaving here in the morning and gossiping," was her heated reply.

This was unbelievable, he thought. "Shirley, who's left to care? This isn't Knapp Street. There are only six apartments in the building and you know everyone in four of them. I don't even know if the other two are rented, come to think of it."

"I don't want to be the hot topic of gossip, can't you understand that?" she cried out as her voice rose to an irritating screech.

"No. There's no gossip, Shirley! As long as we've been going out, our friends are the only ones who know were not spending every night together. Totally strangers would assume we are!" He groaned as he fell back against the couch. Two o'clock. He'd be fresh as a daisy for the audition in seven hours. They love hiring actors who were haggard and bleary eyed on top of being short and nearly thirty. "You know, sometimes I wonder why I moved out here," he muttered.

"I wonder why you moved out here too, Carmine!" was her angry reply as she reached over and turned off the lamp on his nightstand.

Carmine immediately turned on the small lamp by the couch. Suddenly, it was very important for him to see her face as she heard his words. "I didn't want to stay in Milwaukee without you! I sold my dance studio and drove out here two months after you left me!"

Shirley regarded him levelly. "Why didn't you ask me to stay, then?"

He blinked in surprise. "I did! The day you all piled into the ice cream truck, I tried to change your mind so that you'd stay."

She shook her head. "You kissed me. Good kisses, to be sure; but did you think that they would be enough to make me stay after I lost my job then sold all of my furniture for the trip to California?"

"I was trying…" he started feebly.

"Not too hard."

Anger surged within him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you ever think of asking me to marry you? To ask me to stay and build a life with you in Milwaukee?"

"I…" he hedged, "marriage is a big step, Shirley."

"Not for people who've been going out as long as we have, or at least, it shouldn't be. Carmine, was it really easier for you to uproot your whole life and follow me to California, than it was to offer to share your life in Milwaukee with me permanently?" Her last question was asked in a whisper. "Oh god, Carmine. That doesn't say much about us, does it?" She leaned back against the headboard, as the low light from the table lamp shadowed her face into that of a stranger.

Carmine took a deep breath and asked the question that had been spinning in his gut for the last year and a half. The one he'd never had the guts to even ask himself before. "Were you happy to see me when I came to Burbank?"

"Yes," she replied too quickly, before looking him in the eye. "At first," she amended, "I mean, I thought… Well, never mind what I thought, we know how things have turned out, don't we?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "You didn't think I'd really do it, did you? Move out to California, and start my life over for you…"

"No," Shirley said in a whispered tone that promised that tears would soon follow, "I thought I was kissing you goodbye in Milwaukee, Carmine. I felt like you'd made your choice then, and you didn't want me to stay enough that you'd marry me. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"I moved to Burbank for you," he said. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

She buried her face in her hands as the tears started to flow. "I never asked you to do that, Carmine. I wouldn't have," she said. "Look at us! We haven't changed a bit. We're still where we were years ago, going out but seeing other people…"

Carmine swallowed as he felt his throat tighten up. "I'm crazy about you, Shirley! That hasn't changed."

"Do you want to marry me? Do you want to say in front of everyone that you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Do you want to marry anyone—ever?" She looked at him through red-rimmed eyes, eyes that he thought would no longer see him through a romantic haze.

He wanted to say yes, tell her she was his Angelface forever, and that he'd be the one to buy her the colonial home in the suburbs and give her the babies and the future that she'd always craved. Instead, he spoke the truth. "I don't know. I just don't know, Shirley. I just always thought I'd get married. Eventually."

"How long am I supposed to wait for eventually, Carmine?"

"You're not the only one who's playing the waiting game," he shot back in frustration. "How many years have I been waiting?

"I never lied to you, Carmine. I've never pretended to be anything that I'm not." She looked at him in reproach.

He nodded, admitting his defeat. "I know. I've never pretended with you either. I never said I'd marry you."

"Neither one of us is going to change, are we?" she asked in a voice that was strangely hollow and far away.

He shook his head. "We've been trying for so long…" His words were inappropriately punctuated by a soft, yipping noise from behind the shared wall between the apartments.

Shirley's shadowy form turned and spared the wall a glance, before looking back towards Carmine. "That's the problem. I don't think they're going to have to try. They just know that they're right. They don't have to convince themselves, or each other."

"It's been a long night, and I'm tired," Carmine said as exhaustion overtook him and he turned off the small lamp. "Can we talk about this in the morning?" Things would be fine in the morning, he promised himself. He'd ace his audition, get the role, and finally have some pocket money so he could buy Shirley something pretty…

"We can," Shirley replied dully, "but I don't think we have to."

She was right, and deep down he knew it. "We've said what we need to say, haven't we, Shirley?"

She grunted what he presumed to be a "yes" before asking, "Do you want me to leave?"

Habit kicked in one last time. "Nah. I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

FIN


End file.
